Like a Deranged Hallmark Card
by TheXGrayXLady
Summary: Of course, he justified it as, "You're getting older and I'm not. You don't get to do things without me," because, "I want to not eat people and get old with you," sounded too much like a deranged hallmark card.


**Notes: **Alright, so first time writing for Hemlock Grove. I basically freely admit that I just wanted to write Peter and Roman cuddling. So yeah, set a few years post series, shameless fluff, coupled with me enjoying hurting characters.

**_Like a Deranged Hallmark Card_**

As he brushed some sweat soaked strands out of Roman's face, Peter could only marvel at how, even at a time like this, the other man still had such soft hair. He supposed it might have something to do with the sheer amount of product he used to get that perfect sort of, "I don't actually care about or put any effort into my appearance," look, but that wasn't his most pressing concern.

After somehow making it over a year without murderous religious cults, kidnappings, vargulfs, rogue upirs, manta ray demons, or anything leading to the usual piles of bodies they seemed to attract, Roman decided that maybe it was time to try becoming human again. Of course, he justified it as, _"You're getting older and I'm not. You don't get to do things without me,"_ because, _"I want to not eat people and get old with you,"_ sounded too much like a deranged hallmark card.

The procedures to make him human were far worse the second time around. And Roman being Roman, he insisted on going home the second it was over and even a pained and fevered Godfrey always got what they wanted. And if lying on the sofa, using Peter for a pillow made things just a little better than staying at the White Tower, then Peter wasn't exactly about to say no.

Roman's head rested just above Peter's left knee and he somehow managed to curl almost all of his obnoxiously long and lanky torso onto his lap. Every labored breath rattled through his body and he flinched every time Peter moved. If it weren't for the constant shivering, between breaths he would have been deathly still. He was too uncomfortable to sleep, but Peter thought that maybe fucking around with pain or sleep meds when the recipient was undergoing barely tested and barely ethical gene therapy was a bad idea. Albeit a bad idea that looked wildly appealing if Roman was being whiny.

"When this is all over," Peter said, "I'm taking you and Nadia out for Italian." Roman's spine pressed into his stomach as the other man gave a pained laugh.

"You've seen me eat shit with garlic before you dumb mutt." The weak laugh and the lame attempt at banter was at least some sort of comfort. If Roman could still backsass, he would pull through just fine.

"I offer to foot the bill for once and that's how you respond?" he said, stroking Roman's hair. "I'm never doing anything for you ever again." He broke that promise within moments when the Upir broke out in another cold sweat and began dry heaving. As gentle as he could manage, he held Roman to keep him from slipping off the couch and banging his head on the coffee table or something.

"Shee-it," Roman moaned, barely more than a whisper of wind, as Peter gently pulled him back into his lap and kissed his temple. Neither of them were inclined to be affectionate, but in moments like these, it was almost impossible not to be.

"Yeah that's what you look like right now," Peter said, rubbing his back. No amount of sugar coating would cover up the clammy, off-color skin, glassy, disoriented eyes, or the unseemly movements. But he'd seen worse. They'd both seen each other worse.

"Asshole."

"Takes one to know one," he said, trying not to think too much about how badly Roman was shaking or the blue tinted fluid leaking out of his eyes. "You still think it's worth it?" Peter asked, slowly tracing his fingers down the long, ice white scars on Roman's forearm. As their fingers intertwined, he expected Roman to give one of his thousands of pre-packaged excuses. Every time he thought he'd heard all of them, Roman managed to find another.

Peter expected, "_I'm the CEO of a multi-national company. The whole not aging thing is cool now, but people are going to start asking questions when I show up to board meetings looking like I'm eighteen when I'm supposed to be forty,"_ to follow his next rattling breath. Instead, he silently reached up and crept his still trembling fingers beneath Peter's shirt.

His hand rested for a few moments on a series of scars across his chest and abdomen. Each mark he touched was a permanent souvenir from one of the near death experiences that seemed to come standard with living in or around Hemlock Grove. Each touch wordlessly saying, "_I almost lost you again."_

When Roman finally found it in him to speak, his hand resting on a gift from an out of season deer hunter, he breathed, "Yes."


End file.
